The Agent and the Officer
by ModernDayBard
Summary: Because with two sharpshooters like Riza and Clint, you can't not have a fic with them hanging out together.


**Because there just aren't enough fics featuring these two just hanging out. Enjoy today's little drabbles!**

* * *

They were two of the deadliest people in that universe _without_ superpowers or alchemy (and more dangerous than most people with), but they weren't particularly acting like it at the moment.

At _that_ moment, Agent Hawkeye and Lieutenant Hawkeye were acting more like competitive children than like the trained snipers they were. As they wandered through the city on this, their rare day off, anything that came to hand—rocks, wadded paper, rubber bands, even a Nerf pistol borrowed from a child in the park they were meandering through—was now a projectile weapon with which to demonstrate which one had the better aim than the other.

This little competition had been observed from its innocent enough start by Natasha and Roy, who hadn't been particularly surprised that it began. After all, they were only the best sharpshooters in either of their worlds—what else did one expect when they were together for any length of time? Natasha was honestly surprised only that it had taken them this long.

But now the stunts they were pulling in an effort to show each other up were getting _too_ elaborate and dangerous—not for the two 'bird brains' as Tony had taken to calling them, but for the actual children who were watching enthusiastically now and sure to attempt to emulate them later. The red head glanced over at the alchemist, who sighed and nodded. It was time to put an end to this.

Natasha managed to get Clint reigned in a matter of moments later, though Colonel Mustang couldn't quite hear what the two spies had said to each other, as he was faced with the perplexing prospect of trying to ask Riza to act her age.

 _How on earth have_ _I_ _become the sensible one here?_

* * *

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had been at it in the indoor firing range at the SHIELD base for over an hour already, mechanically going through clip after clip as her body went on autopilot and her mind went into overdrive. Anyone who knew the blonde-haired woman would know that when she was like this, she needed time alone to deal with whatever it was that'd gotten to her (probably something stupid that the colonel had said or done) as she shot the targets rather than the person who'd annoyed her.

But this wasn't her world, and the only one who knew that about her was probably still asleep, if she knew him. Because of this, she'd only had an hour of blessed solitude when 'the other Hawkeye' came into the range, dressed for some target practice himself. Riza tried to ignore him, hoping the archer would get the hint.

He didn't.

Or, if he did, he ignored it. Honestly, given what she knew of the man, it could've been either.

"If that's getting to easy, how about a challenge?" he called over to her, far too awake for that hour of the morning.

Riza tried to give him her legendary ice-cold glare that was known to even affect the Flame Alchemist, but when she did, and saw that he'd gestured to the spare bow he'd brought to the range, she couldn't help the light of interest that sparked in her golden eyes.

Clint grinned as he saw it, and within a few minutes, she'd caved, putting down the gun and crossing over to him, picking up the spare bow and testing its weight. Honestly, he didn't have to teach her much after basic mechanics—once she knew how the thing worked and what factors to take into account, her natural marksmanship showed itself. She wasn't as good as _him_ , of course, but it wasn't her preferred weapon, after all.

And she seemed to have cheered up some, which _had_ been the point of it all.

* * *

After one incident involving the two marksmen, a ten-dollar bet, and a holographic rabbit, Stark drew the line: no more shooting contests with live ammo anywhere in the Tower but the firing range. Both Hawkeyes promised, though they already were seeking out a loophole. When it came to practicing for the real world—or even for truly showing off—the range could only do so much.

That was why, when Clint shot a rubber band off his fingers at Riza in passing, it only took two minutes for full-scale battle to erupt in the 'common area' of the Avengers Tower. It didn't help matters that the two were on their own, with everyone else otherwise occupied, allowing the sharpshooters full freedom to get...creative.

Riza had to work hard to suppress the laugh of sheer delight that kept trying to escape. Back home, she was the voice of reason, the one kept the men around her in check and reminded them of duty, dignity, and common courtesy. As jarring as the change to this world had been, she had to admit that she was genuinely enjoying the chance at play—one she hadn't had since joining Amestris' military.

For the agent, this light-hearted moment wasn't quite so unprecedented, though it was in a very different context. Unless it was Natasha, the archer didn't really joke around too much with the others...at least, not like this: normally he just relied on sarcastic banter. Around his family though, it was a different story. He'd join in the games with his kids, encouraging them and reveling in the chance and freedom to be ridiculous and (momentarily) carefree. It was odd to be so free in the Tower, but not unwelcome.

When Tony walked in, determined to find out what all the racket was and why he could hear it in the lab two floors below, he found himself momentarily caught in the crossfire for the few seconds it took for Hawkeye and Hawkeye to realize he was there. Once they did, however, they seamlessly and silently switched from combative to cooperative tactics as they turned on the inventor.

Tony fled the area; and really, when those two team up—what else can you do?

* * *

Each of the Avengers had their own little quirks, and by now, a few months after the Battle of New York, they'd ceased to comment on, or even to notice them. The two newcomers, however, were still in the middle of their adjustment period when it came to the habits of their new allies.

That was why, when the lieutenant walked into the kitchen one morning to find Agent Barton, just home from a mission, seated at the table with a bowl of ice cream as his breakfast, she couldn't help but stare.

"That looks...nutritious," the blonde woman observed in the dry tone that the colonel would've known was as close as she came to expressing surprise at small oddities.

Clint swallowed his mouthful before answering. "Just a little after-mission celebration. Want some?"

Riza shook her head, not sitting until she'd fetched her own 'little indulgence': a cup of coffee. "Things went well then?" she asked after a few sips.

"Well enough," came the answer. "Can't go into details, but it was just a simple recon mission. Barely had to fire three shots."

The fellow sniper nodded her understanding. "Pretty well, then. If only every job was that simple."

"If only," Barton replied, remembering Budapest. He could read a similar story in her golden eyes, and though the name 'Ishval' meant nothing to him, he recognized its after effects all to well. He closed his eyes a second, as he sometimes had to do, and pictured a small, secret farm, and the four people in the whole world who could help him remember, when the difficult times made it hard, why he chose this path. From what he knew of his friend even in her own world she didn't have anything like that, and he hoped for her sake she'd find it soon.

"You sure you don't want some?" he asked, indicating his unorthodox meal.

This time, she accepted the offer.


End file.
